


Batteries Dead, System Offline

by springbok7



Series: An Assortment of Teas and Biscuits [10]
Category: James Bond (Craig movies)
Genre: #TeamRasa, 007 Fest, 007 Fest Fancreations, 007 games, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst, M/M, Team M-branch
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-07-06
Updated: 2018-07-06
Packaged: 2019-06-05 05:03:44
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 773
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15163259
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/springbok7/pseuds/springbok7
Summary: James comes home to a sick Quartermaster. Who is perhaps more ill than anyone, including himself, realised.





	Batteries Dead, System Offline

**Author's Note:**

  * For [AsheTarasovich (natalieashe)](https://archiveofourown.org/users/natalieashe/gifts), [Boffin1710](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Boffin1710/gifts), [Dassandre](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Dassandre/gifts).



> Dedicated to found family. You know who you are and why. Love you guys!
> 
> Unbeta-ed. All errors and typos are mine. Please feel free to let me know if you spot any and/or feel there should be additional tags. I welcome constructive criticism, but neither support or feed trolls.
> 
>    
>  _I do not own these characters. No infringement of copyright is intended and no profit is being made from this piece of fan-fiction._
> 
>  
> 
> Written 06 June 2018

In later reflection, he’d never know what it was that woke him.

A hint of sound?  A movement? A psychic connection he in no way believed in?

He’d never know the answer, but something did.  Something stirs him from the utmost depths of sleep.

He’d been home in London for all of six hours, debriefed with M, returned his kit to R, and then made his escape home to the flat. 

Their flat.

His and Q’s.

They’d bought it on their 5th anniversary.  He’d been getting by paying for a room whilst in country and a bit of space at a storage facility to house his gear so that he wouldn’t have to lug it from place to place.

At least until he and Q had finally, finally come to an agreement and struck their bargain.

Exchanged their rings and bought their flat.

Q had been there in bed, when he’d at long last dragged his arse through the doorway and closed the steel-reinforced door, shutting out the rest of the world.

R’d mentioned he’d been feeling a wee bit poorly right after wrapping up the mission, and had packed straight off home soon as Bond had been confirmed in the hands of the exfiltration team.

It had been radio silence since, but James hadn’t been terribly worried.  Q was notorious for working himself to the last thread, and then crashing like a UPS system until the batteries were recharged.

He intended to make damn sure the batteries were very well charged before he let the Quartermaster out of his sight again.

Six could just fuck the fuck off, he was more than entitled to spend a few days of quality time with his husband.  R would back him up, if it came to that. She had before.

He’d taken possibly the fastest shower in the history of the modern world, and crept -- still damp -- into the fabulous bed he had insisted upon when they closed the deal on the flat.  It was a lovely bed, soft, but with just the right amount of support, and just the right amount of firmness for ... thoroughly exercising the springs in ... ‘vigorous horizontal tangoes’, if he recalled Moneypenny’s sardonic comment correctly.

As his weight dipped the mattress, Q had mumbled a sleepy greeting before sitting up to cough violently for what seemed like an age, snag a gulp of the likely tepid tea sat on the bedside table, and then curl into James’ side like he’d never be warm again.

His breath had wheezed in his lungs, and James knew as soon as he’d heard it that he’d soon be dragging his Quartermaster’s complaining arse in to Medical, or the clinic down the street.  Whichever he could convince a sure-to-be reluctant Q to agree to, but he  _ would  _ agree to one of them.  

James would make sure of that!

As the obviously ill Q had slipped back to sleep, James had smiled down at him and his sweaty fringe, and figured he’d fix him up some soup once he was caught up on his sleep.  Lunchtime seemed like a good enough goal. Soften the poor wee thing up with some food and  _ then _ spring the prospect of a visit to a doctor on him.

Except that, in the pale, translucent threads of pre-dawn, he’d been awakened.

His senses on high alert, screaming at him,  _ Something is wrong, something is terribly wrong _ !

He’s frozen, breathing kept to a steady, slow pace.  Nothing to give him away, no hint that he’s awake if there’s an intruder in the chamber.

He listens intently.

He hears nothing but the normal hum of the water heater behind the wall and the ticking of the clock.

No footsteps.

No creaking floorboards, left that way for precisely this purpose.

He slits his eyes open.

The room is empty, his clothes draped over the chair where he left them scant hours prior.

He listens even more intently, the weight of Q’s head on his belly normal and not interfering with his concentration in the slightest.

Still, he hears nothing but the soft whoosh of the gas and the measured tick-tock of the clock hanging on the wall by the bedroom door.

And then he realises.

He is once more frozen, but for an entirely different reason.

Paralysed with fear.

If he doesn’t move, perhaps the dream -- the nightmare -- will prove untrue.

If he doesn’t rock the boat, perhaps it will not capsize and throw him into the icy abyss he knows is waiting for him.

The silence is near complete.

The warmth on his belly is deceptive.

The sound of wheezing breath is gone.

**Author's Note:**

> Kudos and comments feed the souls of world-weary writers! <3


End file.
